Posted:
Hello All
I am back with a small Raman rambling post.
Some times I love what I write, and some times I am just not sureš This is one of those times when the idea of what I want to write is crystal clear in my head, but doesn't seem to make a lot of sense on paper. I sincerely hope I haven't wasted your time!
****
As she drives me from the court, the rain is still dripping on my car. Its making those noises that unsettle and soothe you at the same time. As much as I want her company and I want her to be alone with me, it annoys me that we cannot really talk. But I am thankful at the same time that its she who is in the car with me. I was getting back into the same pattern I was in before she came to my life, and I wanted her to be the one to yank me back to the present anyway. She applies brakes a bit too harshly and it seems that the car is going to skid. My hand suddenly moves onto the gear and holds hers. I cannot comprehend anything bad happening to her. "Aaram se gaadi chalaao Ishita, its raining" I say. When I take my wet hand off hers, at snail speed, I cannot but wonder about the rain. Was the rain trying to play cupid in our lives or was it just roaring and pouring on us to reveal the best and the worst in us?
I remember the day when we were walking back from the coffee shop, looking for a ride to get back home. We walked together, but not really together. We were two unwilling strangers walking on the same path, to the same destination. I am amazed when I remember the emotions I went through the first time we were together in rain. I had held her hand earlier, albeit only to stop her from falling. Later when we stood under trees, trying to save ourselves from the rains, I offered her my jacket. The woman had always been proud. She hated me, and she wasn't the kind to swoon when a man acted chivalrous, especially if that man was me. Yet again, she'd offended me. SHe'd shown me my place. I took the jacket back muttering something rude to her. I remember thinking she was different from every woman I had met in my life. She wasn't the kind to make sweet-talk. She wasn't the kind to let any man change her mind about right and wrong. She wasn't the kind to compromise on her beliefs. She wasn't the kind to change her mind. I should have known then, that her moral compass was what made her. Not pride, not ego, not anger, but her morality. To this day, she amazes it with me. Here we are again, two unwilling participants in rain, walking on the same path, but not really together, and walking to the same destination. She probably hates me now, maybe more than the first rain.
She catches me staring at her, but she doesn't ask me what I am thinking about. I don't know if its because she already knows, or if she doesn't care any more. I pray that its the former. The car stops at a signal, and she takes the phone out to check if she has any messages. When she is about to turn it off, I see Ruhi's picture on her screen. I smile at the face that's been holding us together like a glue. I immediately regret the way I shouted at my child when she asked us to take her to the restaurant the other night. I didn't know then that it was her plan. But that didn't justify my treatment of her. Nothing justified my treatment of Ruhi; not the other night, and not her whole life. I have been sensitive to my daughter's feelings only after Ishita came to our lives. Even since then, its taken Ishita's constant reminders to make me the father that I am today. I don't even notice the rain stopping and starting again. The thunderous roar shakes her too. But she looks on straight, only a small quiver of her lips tell me she's shaken too. I want to hold her, make her believe in me again.
The thought of holding her drags me back to that night when I did something I am still ashamed of. I hugged her, in the middle of the street, in pouring rain and I even told her I loved her. In those moments when I had my arms around her, I looked up at my daughter once. She was the one I was doing all this for. I don't know how long that embrace lasted. But I know how long it would have felt for her. There we were again, 2 unwilling strangers brought together in rain. Only, I don't know if the unwillingness was as strong as the first rains. I may have been dreaming but I thought I felt her return the hug too, did she expect love from me? Did I even deserve her? Did she really have any hope from me? And that is what makes me more ashamed. I took advantage of the feelings of that woman only because I wanted to make my child think we were a happy couple. If it had been her, she would have spoken to my daughter quietly, and told her that parents fight and then make up. She wouldn't have taken rash steps to prove love. With every rain, I think life is teaching me something. Something about the woman I married. Something about the man I am. Here were are again, in the cross-hairs of my love for my child. This time, the child that may not even appreciate what I am doing for him. Why does my love for my children need to hurt her? Why do I do this to her? I may never know the answer. For that, I think I'd have to know myself first.
The car is now at a signal, and both of us stare at a signal that warns drivers to not drive under the influence of alcohol. SHe looks at me with a wry smile. Now I know she is thinking of the rains and what happened a couple of nights ago. I cannot do anything much other than look at her with shame and guilt in my eyes. "I have grown to hate the rains I think" she says. That just feels like someone is pulling my guts in either direction. I do not know what to say.
Invariably, my mind wanders off to the rainy night a few days ago. It was worse than any vision of hell I had ever seen. I have been drunk before, well, I have been drunk before and faced her too. But that night was different. That night was perhaps the first night in my life when I thought I had lost everything, including my own identity. I don't remember more than half of what I said and did. ALl I remember is her holding me, picking me up and taking me back home. I remember trying to push her away, and the look of determination on her face to pick me up. I can clearly remember the anger and the disappointment on her face. At the same time, there was pleading, and a sense of understanding and concern. All she wanted was to be there and help me; the man causing her the grief.
As we near our destination, I cannot but help look at my wounded hand. I have the wound, and she applies the cure. This woman has the strength of character that I cannot even dream of. She has the patience to deal with any difficulty I cause for her. She has a concern for me that is completely irrational considering what I do to her.
In between all those rains and the pain I have caused her, her moral compass hasn't swayed. She continues to do the right thing, and I continue to behave like a monster. The rain does bring out the best in her and the worst in me. We bare our souls, hers just happens to be purer than mine.
"It's all nonsense. It's only nonsense. I'm not afraid of the rain. I am not afraid of the rain. Oh, oh, God, I wish I wasn't." - Ernest Hemingway
*** How was it? I did plan to add a part 2 with Ishita's memories of the rain, but I wasnt very sure. Please let me know if you would be interested in reading her ramblings?
I am back with a small Raman rambling post.
Some times I love what I write, and some times I am just not sureš This is one of those times when the idea of what I want to write is crystal clear in my head, but doesn't seem to make a lot of sense on paper. I sincerely hope I haven't wasted your time!
****
As she drives me from the court, the rain is still dripping on my car. Its making those noises that unsettle and soothe you at the same time. As much as I want her company and I want her to be alone with me, it annoys me that we cannot really talk. But I am thankful at the same time that its she who is in the car with me. I was getting back into the same pattern I was in before she came to my life, and I wanted her to be the one to yank me back to the present anyway. She applies brakes a bit too harshly and it seems that the car is going to skid. My hand suddenly moves onto the gear and holds hers. I cannot comprehend anything bad happening to her. "Aaram se gaadi chalaao Ishita, its raining" I say. When I take my wet hand off hers, at snail speed, I cannot but wonder about the rain. Was the rain trying to play cupid in our lives or was it just roaring and pouring on us to reveal the best and the worst in us?
I remember the day when we were walking back from the coffee shop, looking for a ride to get back home. We walked together, but not really together. We were two unwilling strangers walking on the same path, to the same destination. I am amazed when I remember the emotions I went through the first time we were together in rain. I had held her hand earlier, albeit only to stop her from falling. Later when we stood under trees, trying to save ourselves from the rains, I offered her my jacket. The woman had always been proud. She hated me, and she wasn't the kind to swoon when a man acted chivalrous, especially if that man was me. Yet again, she'd offended me. SHe'd shown me my place. I took the jacket back muttering something rude to her. I remember thinking she was different from every woman I had met in my life. She wasn't the kind to make sweet-talk. She wasn't the kind to let any man change her mind about right and wrong. She wasn't the kind to compromise on her beliefs. She wasn't the kind to change her mind. I should have known then, that her moral compass was what made her. Not pride, not ego, not anger, but her morality. To this day, she amazes it with me. Here we are again, two unwilling participants in rain, walking on the same path, but not really together, and walking to the same destination. She probably hates me now, maybe more than the first rain.
She catches me staring at her, but she doesn't ask me what I am thinking about. I don't know if its because she already knows, or if she doesn't care any more. I pray that its the former. The car stops at a signal, and she takes the phone out to check if she has any messages. When she is about to turn it off, I see Ruhi's picture on her screen. I smile at the face that's been holding us together like a glue. I immediately regret the way I shouted at my child when she asked us to take her to the restaurant the other night. I didn't know then that it was her plan. But that didn't justify my treatment of her. Nothing justified my treatment of Ruhi; not the other night, and not her whole life. I have been sensitive to my daughter's feelings only after Ishita came to our lives. Even since then, its taken Ishita's constant reminders to make me the father that I am today. I don't even notice the rain stopping and starting again. The thunderous roar shakes her too. But she looks on straight, only a small quiver of her lips tell me she's shaken too. I want to hold her, make her believe in me again.
The thought of holding her drags me back to that night when I did something I am still ashamed of. I hugged her, in the middle of the street, in pouring rain and I even told her I loved her. In those moments when I had my arms around her, I looked up at my daughter once. She was the one I was doing all this for. I don't know how long that embrace lasted. But I know how long it would have felt for her. There we were again, 2 unwilling strangers brought together in rain. Only, I don't know if the unwillingness was as strong as the first rains. I may have been dreaming but I thought I felt her return the hug too, did she expect love from me? Did I even deserve her? Did she really have any hope from me? And that is what makes me more ashamed. I took advantage of the feelings of that woman only because I wanted to make my child think we were a happy couple. If it had been her, she would have spoken to my daughter quietly, and told her that parents fight and then make up. She wouldn't have taken rash steps to prove love. With every rain, I think life is teaching me something. Something about the woman I married. Something about the man I am. Here were are again, in the cross-hairs of my love for my child. This time, the child that may not even appreciate what I am doing for him. Why does my love for my children need to hurt her? Why do I do this to her? I may never know the answer. For that, I think I'd have to know myself first.
The car is now at a signal, and both of us stare at a signal that warns drivers to not drive under the influence of alcohol. SHe looks at me with a wry smile. Now I know she is thinking of the rains and what happened a couple of nights ago. I cannot do anything much other than look at her with shame and guilt in my eyes. "I have grown to hate the rains I think" she says. That just feels like someone is pulling my guts in either direction. I do not know what to say.
Invariably, my mind wanders off to the rainy night a few days ago. It was worse than any vision of hell I had ever seen. I have been drunk before, well, I have been drunk before and faced her too. But that night was different. That night was perhaps the first night in my life when I thought I had lost everything, including my own identity. I don't remember more than half of what I said and did. ALl I remember is her holding me, picking me up and taking me back home. I remember trying to push her away, and the look of determination on her face to pick me up. I can clearly remember the anger and the disappointment on her face. At the same time, there was pleading, and a sense of understanding and concern. All she wanted was to be there and help me; the man causing her the grief.
As we near our destination, I cannot but help look at my wounded hand. I have the wound, and she applies the cure. This woman has the strength of character that I cannot even dream of. She has the patience to deal with any difficulty I cause for her. She has a concern for me that is completely irrational considering what I do to her.
In between all those rains and the pain I have caused her, her moral compass hasn't swayed. She continues to do the right thing, and I continue to behave like a monster. The rain does bring out the best in her and the worst in me. We bare our souls, hers just happens to be purer than mine.
"It's all nonsense. It's only nonsense. I'm not afraid of the rain. I am not afraid of the rain. Oh, oh, God, I wish I wasn't." - Ernest Hemingway
*** How was it? I did plan to add a part 2 with Ishita's memories of the rain, but I wasnt very sure. Please let me know if you would be interested in reading her ramblings?
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